


To bathe you in the light of day

by givebackmylifecas



Series: On your back in the glass [3]
Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fix-It, Happy Ending, Jealous Berlin, M/M, Possessive Berlin, Post-Canon, SO MUCH FLUFF, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, a proposal???, a wedding, also featuring, and cheese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:14:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24362638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givebackmylifecas/pseuds/givebackmylifecas
Summary: “Andrés, mi amor, why are you packing at,” Martín glances at the clock on his nightstand. “half past six in the morning?”Andrés frowns at him as if he’d just asked whether the Pope is a catholic. “For our trip. That farce you insist on calling a reunion.”Post-Season 4 follow on from my fics "What if this is all the love I'm ever shown?" and "Built a house in the middle of your chest", which is basically the gang reuniting after the heist. This is super fluffy and you don't really need to have read the others to read this.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Series: On your back in the glass [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752175
Comments: 34
Kudos: 204





	To bathe you in the light of day

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look at that, we're back and for once this has so little angst I don't need to include trigger warnings except for my poor attempt at humour.
> 
> Fic title from the snow patrol song "crack the shutters"

Martín wakes to find almost the entire contents of Andrés’ closet on top of him. He sits up with a yawn, careful not to wrinkle the linen trousers that are piled on his chest.

“Good you’re awake,” Andrés says, when he turns to look at Martín from where he is crouched over his suitcase in nothing but his underwear. “Quick, which do you think is better, the light blue shirt or the lavender?”

He pulls the two shirts off the bed somewhere by Martín’s feet.

“Um,” Martín blinks, still half asleep. “I like you in the lavender one.”

Andrés nods and starts folding the lavender shirt into his suitcase.

“Andrés, mi amor, why are you packing at,” Martín glances at the clock on his nightstand. “half past six in the morning?”

Andrés frowns at him as if he’d just asked whether the Pope is a catholic. “For our trip. That farce you insist on calling a reunion.”

Martín nods. “No, I know that we’re going to the reunion, but it’s not for another three days.”

“I just want to be prepared,” Andrés scowls. “No doubt everyone will be dressed like the farmers and low-lifes they are, but I for one do not intend to be mistaken for some polyester-wearing tourist.”

“Okay,” Martín says slowly. “And this has nothing to do with the fact that this is the first time you’ll be seeing everyone in over a year?” Martín sighs when Andrés just shoots him a filthy look. “Okay, well, I’m going back to sleep. If and when you decide to dig me out of the pile of clothes you’ve buried me under, feel free to join.”

He hears Andrés muttering under his breath, but it really is far too early for this so Martín just rolls onto his side and pulls the duvet over his head.

He actually manages to go back to sleep and when he wakes again, there’s bright sunlight filtering in between the curtains and Andrés is in bed next to him. There aren’t any ridiculously expensive clothes piled on top of him and the suitcase is nowhere to be seen. He sits up and wriggles closer to Andrés, whom Martín suspects isn’t actually asleep, though his eyes are closed.

He rolls so he’s on his back, with his head resting on Andrés’ stomach and his legs hanging off the side of the bed. One of Andrés’ hands immediately comes to rest in Martín’s hair, confirming his suspicions. For a moment, Martín just lies there in silence, enjoying the feeling of Andrés’ fingers running through his hair.

“What’s wrong?” he asks eventually, when Andrés hasn’t spoken either. He hears Andrés sigh and Martín turns onto his side so he can look at him, cheek pressed to the warm skin of Andrés’ stomach.

“Nothing,” Andrés says and Martín frowns.

“Let’s try that again,” he says. “Andrés, mi amor, mi vida, mi cielo. What is wrong?”

Andrés looks like he wants to frown and laugh at the same time, so he settles for a look of disgruntlement, his hand moving so his thumb can rub tiny circles between Martín’s eyebrows. “I’m not sure we should go to the reunion.”

“Why?” Martín asks, trying not to look perturbed at Andrés’ sudden change in heart.

“It’s a long journey. And we’re safe here, hidden. Should we really risk that just to reunite with the people we did a heist with?”

It disturbs Martín just how serious Andrés seems. “A few hours ago, you were packing. How did you get from that to this?” he asks, trying to sound calm and understanding.

Andrés hesitates and Martín turns his head just enough to be able to press a kiss to his bed-warm skin. “Because you were asleep,” Andrés begins. “And you were all curled up under the covers and I couldn’t see any part of you and I thought just for a moment, about how I left you.” Martín’s breath catches in his throat. “And I thought about how you nearly left me,” Andrés continues, his free hand tangling with Martín’s, long fingers gently stroking over the scar on his forearm. “Going to this reunion is a risk for all of us. We risk losing our freedom, the lives we’ve built, the peace we’ve found. But I… I risk losing you. I’m just not sure it’s worth it.”

The words hang in the warm air between them for a moment and then Martín sits up, Andrés’ hand falling away from his face. He crawls up the bed, planting a knee on either side of Andrés’ chest so he’s straddling him. Andrés’ hands automatically come to rest on Martín’s hips, an echo of a similar position from the very different situation they were in last night.

“Andrés, cariño, you are the most ridiculous, romantic man I’ve ever met and if Tokyo were here right now, I’d slap her for ever suggesting you don’t have feelings,” Martín says sincerely and a tiny laugh escapes Andrés.

“I never want to hear you mention her name when we’re sitting in bed like this,” Andrés jokes and Martín smiles, but quickly sobers.

“I’ve thought about the same thing you know,” he tells Andrés, who looks surprised. “Of course I have, how could I not? But Sergio has assured us it’s safe, hasn’t he? And he hasn’t been wrong lately, has he?” Andrés shakes his head.

“No, but Rio…” he trails off and Martín brings a hand up to grip his chin.

“Rio was stupid,” Martín says harshly and Andrés grins a little. “He was stupid and he broke the rules. No one broke the rules this time. Our transport is private and secure. The island we’re going to is at the arse-end of nowhere, and Sergio rented the house under a fake name and has already payed off the local authorities to ignore us. So the question is whether you trust Sergio?” Martín asks and Andrés hesitates, but nods eventually. “Good,” Martín says, settling himself more firmly on the other man’s thighs, making Andrés groan and tighten his grip on Martín’s hips. “The other question is of course whether you trust me to do everything in my power to stop us from being separated, the same way I trust you.”

Andrés shuffles up the bed with Martín still on top of him so that he can sit up, leaning back against the headboard. One hand leaves Martín’s hips to grip the back of his neck and pull him into a kiss. “Of course, I trust you,” Andrés says into the scant inches between them once they’ve separated. “Only you,” he confirms, before surging forward and somehow Martín ends up flat on his back with Andrés above him, arms braced on either side of his head.

“You should do that more often,” Martín pants and Andrés grins.

“But then how will I impress you when I really need to?” he asks, making Martín laugh.

He reaches a hand up, his thumb stroking the corner of Andrés mouth. “So we’ll go?” he asks.

Andrés purses his lips and nods. “Yes, but if anything looks even close to dodgy we’re gone, alright?”

Martín nods. “I suppose that means you’ll need to pack again.”

“It does,” Andrés grins wickedly. “But after,” he says, grinding his hips down.

After means Martín is ready to sleep again when Andrés rolls out of bed and produces his suitcase from the corner of the walk-in closet he insisted on having.

“You’re not going to bury me in clothes again, are you?” Martín teases when Andrés reappears.

Andrés laughs. “I might, although I quite prefer you like this,” he says, gesturing to Martín’s naked body.

“You’re ridiculous, cariño. I’m going to make breakfast; do you want anything?”

Andrés shrugs, already half absorbed in his outfit planning. “I’ll just have whatever you have. But hurry back, I need your opinion on how best to outshine everyone at this reunion.”

“Like you’ll have any trouble with that anyway,” Martín says fondly, going to make breakfast.

* * *

The transport was as safe as Sergio could make it, Andrés knows this, but he’s still wary when the private helicopter lands on the island off the coast of Australia. It was a long journey, with nearly two days spent on an extremely slow boat before they switched to air travel.

Andrés takes Martín’s hand as they walk to the car that was left for them near the landing site. The keys were handed to them by the pilot of the helicopter, a distinctly shady looking man whom Sergio had assured him was entirely trustworthy.

The car is nondescript, entirely forgettable and Andrés hates it. Almost as if he can sense his thoughts, Martín says: “It’s ugly, but it’s only for a few days, right?”

Andrés nods and puts their bags into the boot. Martín detests being treated like a woman, but this is the sort of small thing Andrés can get away with every now and then.

When they get into the car, they find an envelope with directions on the dashboard.

“I hope Sergio picked a big house,” Martín says when they pull away from the helipad and onto a red dirt road. “Can you imagine if we end up having to share a room with someone?”

The image of having to share with Tokyo or, god-forbid, Helsinki flashes before Andrés’ eyes and he scowls. “Don’t worry corazón, if my brother knows what’s good for him we’ll have our own room, even if no one else does.”

Martín laughs. “I love that you sound willing to kill your little brother over a room.”

“I don’t know why you’re so blasé about it. If we have to share a room that means we can’t do anything fun for three nights,” Andrés says, perhaps a little viciously.

“Oh god, don’t say things like that,” Martín groans, finally comprehending Andrés’ horror.

As it turns out, the drive is quite short and soon they’re pulling off the road and driving towards a pair of massive gates. Andrés notes a camera turning in their direction when they stop in front of the gates, which soon swing open, allowing them in.

Martín whistles. “Seems like we won’t have to share rooms,” he says, sounding begrudgingly impressed as they drive towards what can only be described as a mansion.

“My monastery was nicer,” Andrés grumbles and Martín puts a consoling hand on his knee.

“Of course it was, mi amor. Sergio has money now, but no taste.”

Andrés smiles at him, a little more indulgently than he would if anyone else were around, before parking the car next to the others, in front of the tacky marble pillars that adorn the house.

The massive front door opens and Denver runs out, Cincinnati tucked under one arm like a rugby ball.

“Berlin, Palermo,” he says with that stupid laugh of his. “You guys are the last ones here!” Denver carefully puts Cincinnati down who looks a lot taller than the last time Andrés saw him and walks over to give them both a handshake, that turns into a one-armed hug.

“How are you, Denver?” Andrés asks cordially and Denver grins.

“Good, I’m good. So good. Wait until you come inside and I’ll tell you,” he says before running off inside after Cincinnati who had quietly disappeared while the adults were talking.

“Rude,” Andrés mutters and Martín grins, the still visible scarring on his face making the lines around his eyes seem deeper.

“Don’t get upset about such little things now, you’ll never last the weekend,” he says, gesturing for Andrés to open the boot. They get their bags unloaded and make it halfway into the hallway when they are suddenly swamped by people, the entire gang seemingly having decided to come and greet them at once – belatedly, Andrés thinks.

Helsinki, his beard wilder than ever, immediately pounces on Martín lifting him off his feet with the force of his hug.

Andrés very briefly considers pulling his gun until he is distracted by both Lisbon and Rio trying to say hi to him at the same time.

The following minutes are a mix of general confusion and heartfelt welcomes. By the time Andrés manages to make it through everyone and to Sergio, who – true to form – is standing off to one side, his slightly more violent tendencies have died down a little.

He pulls Sergio into a hug, which his brother thankfully returns. “Hermanito,” Andrés says with a smile. “How have you been?”

Sergio smiles and pushes his glasses up his nose. “Good, and you? How are things with Martín?”

“Things with me are good,” Martín says, materialising at Andrés’ side as if he’d been summoned. Andrés slides an arm around Martín’s waist, keeping his grip reassuringly tight.

“Yes, they are, querido,” Andrés agrees.

“Good,” Sergio says, a little nervous at the intensity of Martín’s gaze. “I’m glad for you both.”

Martín smiles a little insincerely and Andrés pinches his waist just enough to tell him off for being a brat. Martín simply smacks his hand away and walks pointedly over to Helsinki, who still looks overjoyed to see him.

“What did you do to Palermo?” Lisbon asks, joining them and Andrés sighs.

“Don’t ask, hermanita,” he says, enjoying the way she colours at the term of endearment and Sergio narrows his eyes as if trying to work out Andrés’ game.

“He’s still angry with me,” Sergio mutters and Andrés shrugs.

“What do you want me to say? Some days I’m still not convinced he’s forgiven me.”

Lisbon looks between the two of them and sighs, clearly deciding not to get involved. “Well, why don’t you two go and get Palermo and we can all have dinner. Denver has some news to share and he’s been driving everyone crazy because he won’t say what it is until we’re all together.”

Sergio jerks his chin towards Martín. “Well, I’m not getting him,” he says and Andrés rolls his eyes.

“You two used to get along,” Andrés mutters but decides to go remove Martín from Helsinki’s general vicinity.

He walks over to where Martín is standing with Helsinki and Stockholm and smoothly inserts himself into the conversation. “Martín, cariño,” he says, not bothering with the code name. “Lisbon wants everyone to come to dinner. Apparently, Denver has some news.”

“We’ll finish talking later,” Martín says, winking at Helsinki and Andrés is 95 percent sure he only did it to wind him up, but he grabs Martín’s hand and begins dragging him away rather aggressively anyway.

When they’re all gathered at the ridiculously large dining table and Andrés has managed to ensure that Martín is sitting next to him and Nairobi, but not Helsinki, Denver gets to his feet.

“So, I’m glad we could all make it, because I have something to say and I wanted to wait until all of you were here,” he says, grinning from ear to ear.

Andrés glances at Stockholm who is smiling gently and wishes he had placed money, because it’s obvious what Denver’s going to announce.

“I’m going to be a father again,” Denver says and everyone breaks into applause. “Stockholm and I are expecting another baby.”

“To Stockholm and Denver,” Lisbon toasts and everyone raises their glasses.

“To Stockholm and Denver!” they all repeat.

When Denver sits down, still looking giddy at his announcement, Nairobi gets up.

“Not to steal anyone’s thunder,” she says loudly. “But Bogota and I are expecting too!”

There’s uproar as Tokyo and Stockholm both shriek and rush to embrace Nairobi who is currently being wrestled into a hug by an overenthusiastic Denver. Across the table, Bogota looks far too pleased with himself and Sergio looks a little lost at how out of control things have gotten.

“Is there anyone who’s not having a baby?” Martín asks, leaning sideways out of his chair so he’s half resting against Andrés’ chest, head tucked under his chin.

“Why?” Tokyo asks from beside them. “Upset that Andrés hasn’t been able to knock you up yet?”

Andrés throws an arm over Martín’s chest to stop him jumping up and possibly murdering Tokyo. “Don’t give her the satisfaction, mi amor,” he murmurs into Martín’s ear, stroking his hair with his free hand.

Tokyo makes a disturbingly convincing retching sound. “You two are disgusting,” she says and Andrés grins.

“Don’t be bitter Tokyo, it doesn’t suit you,” he says smugly as Martín finally relaxes against him again.

“Helsinki, tell us about you,” Nairobi says, when she's managed to sit down again and everyone has served themselves some food. “What have you been up to since we all left?”

“Well,” Helsinki says, flushing a little as all the attention turns to him. “Rio and I got a cat. His name is Copenhagen.”

Lisbon and Manila coo and Helsinki pulls a rumpled picture of a huge ginger cat out of his shirt pocket, which is then passed around.

“Tell them about Marven,” Rio prompts, his smile a little shy, not as wide as it used to be.

“Marven?” Nairobi asks, repeating the name salaciously. “Who is Marven?”

Helsinki blushes even darker. “He’s… well, he’s my boyfriend. He’s German and we met when Rio and I went to Buenos Aires.”

Both Nairobi and Tokyo make juvenile catcall noises and Andrés doesn’t miss how Helsinki’s eyes flick to Martín.

“Do you have a picture of this Marven?” Andrés asks, keeping his tone level. Helsinki nods and produces another battered photograph. Nairobi grabs for it and then starts giggling with Stockholm, which Andrés takes to mean Marven is good looking. The photo goes around the table until it eventually makes it to Andrés and Martín.

The picture shows Helsinki and a short, olive-skinned man on a beach, wide smiles on each of their faces. Marven really is very attractive, not that Andrés would ever voice that thought – he quite likes living after all.

Martín looks at the photo and then hands it back to Helsinki. “I don’t like him,” Martín says calmly and conversation around the table stops abruptly. Helsinki looks upset and Andrés briefly fears for Martín’s safety when both Nairobi and Manila grip their knives a little too tightly. “I’m sorry,” Martín continues. “But it’s unacceptable that you’re dating someone better looking than me. Think of my ego, Helsi, it will never recover.”

Andrés relaxes and Helsinki breaks into helpless, relieved laughter. “You’re an asshole, Palermo,” Helsinki says and Martín shrugs, looking extremely pleased with himself. Under the table, his hand finds Andrés’, fingers immediately interlocking and Andrés squeezes his hand comfortingly.

The rest of the table seems to relax after that and the dinner finishes without any more drama, apart from Tokyo “accidentally” flicking a spoonful of peas at Denver when he laughs at the red streak in her now chin-length hair.

Rio and Stockholm offer to clean up, a transparent attempt to spend some time together, but Denver agrees easily enough and the others move outside to the garden where Cincinnati and Lisbon’s daughter Paula start some sort of bastardised version of football with Denver, Tokyo, Bogota, and Manila. Marseille is drafted as referee and looks extremely unhappy about it.

Andrés and Martín settle in chairs on the patio and are quickly joined by Helsinki, Nairobi, Sergio, and Lisbon.

“So how have you guys been?” Lisbon asks, nodding at the two of them. “How is Vietnam?”

Andrés shrugs. “It’s nice, quiet where we are. Enough culture to keep me entertained.” Martín snorts and Andrés rolls his eyes. “Fine, I get a little bored from time to time, but I’m not about to do anything stupid and jeopardise… everything.” Martín looks at him, their conversation from a few days ago, clearly on his mind as it is Andrés’.

“I’m surprised you two haven’t killed each other yet,” Lisbon says, half teasingly, half serious. “But you look like you’re on your honeymoon.” She nods at their joined hands, which Andrés hadn’t even been aware of until she pointed it out, so used to being in contact with Martín.

“We have our moments,” Martín acknowledges, a little more honestly than Andrés would like. “I only threatened to burn the house down once, so I’d say we’re fine.”

Andrés frowns. “You threatened that twice. Once when I tried to hire a maid –“

“Prostitute,” Martín interjects. “She turned out to be a prostitute.”

“And the second time,” Andrés says sharply. “Was literally the day before we left to come here.”

Martín waves a hand dismissively. “I didn’t threaten to burn down the house that time. I said I would burn all your clothes, if you didn’t finish packing.”

Sergio casts Martín a commiserating look. “How many suitcases did he bring?”

“Two,” Martín says, like the traitor he is. “And half of mine is full of his clothes too.”

Nairobi laughs, as do Lisbon and Sergio, but Helsinki looks a little concerned, which Andrés decidedly doesn’t like.

“So, is this the longest you’ve dated someone without proposing?” Nairobi says teasingly.

Martín goes very still and Andrés gives Nairobi a glare that has everyone around them looking down at their feet.

“I’m… I’m going to get some beers for everyone,” Martín says, getting to his feet and half-running away from them.

Before Andrés can say or do anything, Helsinki is following Martín. He wants to go after them, stop whatever emotional bonding is about to happen, but Sergio shakes his head and for once Andrés heeds his advice, going back to glaring at Nairobi.

“Sorry?” she offers and Andrés rolls his eyes.

* * *

Martín doesn’t want to be upset. In fact, he desperately wishes he could have ignored Nairobi and her stupid, thoughtless comment. But the fact remained that she had a point. The longest Andrés had ever gone without proposing to a woman he dated was six months. He and Martín had been together for twenty-one months and still, Andrés hadn’t even mentioned marriage.

Maybe he’d just had enough of being married, Martín tried to rationalise. Five weddings would be enough for anyone and yet… Yet Andrés had always liked being married – just not the women whom he married.

Rio and Stockholm are no longer in the kitchen when Martín goes in, which he is grateful for. He sits down at the marble breakfast bar, head in his hands, so he doesn’t realise Helsinki has followed him until he speaks.

“Are you okay, Palermo?”

Martín raises his head as Helsinki takes a seat opposite him, his face openly displaying his concern. “Of course, I was just getting a bit hot outside,” Martín says as cheerfully as he can.

“You said you were getting beer,” Helsinki corrects gently and Martín’s smile falters.

“Right, I should… I should probably go do that.”

“Wait,” Helsinki says, hands held up in front of him, like he did when Martín was getting ready to blow up the hostages just to leave the bank. “Are you okay? With Andrés. You don’t have to stay if he isn’t good to you, you know.” He says it so openly, so sincerely that Martín almost laughs.

“Even if I wanted to leave Andrés – which I don’t, just to be clear – I don’t think I could. I wouldn’t survive it,” he admits, determinedly not thinking about last time.

Helsinki nods. “If it helps, I don’t think he would either. Not any more.”

“You know, I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” Martín says with a laugh.

“It shouldn’t be,” Helsinki says with a frown and Martín shrugs.

He hops down from his tool and gestures to the fridge. “I don’t think I fancy beer any more. How about we see if the Professor was smart and stocked up on booze, huh?”

Helsinki looks like he wants to argue, but then shrugs too. “Why not, it’s four o’clock somewhere.”

Martín claps a hand on his shoulder and laughs. “Yeah, but it’s nearly eight here. We’re overdue.”

As it turns out, someone – even if it wasn’t Sergio – did buy in a fair amount of alcohol and when they return to the garden with bottles of tequila and a bowl of lime wedges there’s a general cheer from the rest of the gang.

“Shots!” Helsinki announces and Nairobi groans.

“Not fair, Stockholm and I can’t take part!” she complains and Martín briefly feels vindictively pleased.

From beside her, Andrés – who even in a wooden garden chair looks like he’s in the middle of a GQ shoot – shrugs. “Maybe you shouldn’t have let Bogota knock you up if you still wanted to have fun.”

“Enough,” Sergio says sternly before Nairobi can start arguing with him. “Can’t we just have… a quiet night together?”

There’s silence for all of five seconds before everyone – including Lisbon – starts laughing at him and he waves them all away.

“Oh Sergio,” Lisbon says fondly. “Let’s get you a drink.”

Martín is so, so drunk. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he drank this much, but he thinks the last time was before the heist. He’s lying flat on his back on the grass between Marseille and Stockholm, staring up at the stars which are disconcertingly moving above his head.

“Are the stars spinning or am I just drunk?” he asks and Stockholm laughs.

She pats the top of his chest in a friendly way. “You are very, very drunk Palermo.”

“You’re right,” he says, sitting up and staggering to his feet. Across the patio, he can see Sergio and Andrés sitting together, a bottle of very expensive wine on the table in front of them. The same table that Tokyo is trying to lie on.

“Body shots,” she yells, taking her shirt off, leaving her in just her shorts and bikini top.

Martín groans as he stumbles over to where Helsinki and Bogota are sitting. “No please, if we’re doing body shots can’t someone hot like Denver do it?”

Denver giggles from where he’s slumped against Nairobi on the other side of the table and Martín winks dramatically at him as he finally manages to fall onto the bench next to Helsinki.

“Hey,” Stockholm reprimands playfully as she joins them at the table, Marseille following her. “I think you’ve slept with enough people at this table without having to go after my husband.”

Martín lazily gives her the finger as Tokyo finally gets off the table and puts her shirt back on.

“That’s true,” she says, grinning wickedly. “You’ve slept with more members of the gang than anyone else.”

Martín scowls at her. “Really, you didn’t do the rounds before you settled on Rio?”

At the other end of the table, Andrés and Sergio have paused their conversation and Martín is very aware of Andrés’ eyes on him.

Tokyo shakes her head. “Nope, but you’ve fucked two people here, whereas everyone else has only done one – at most.”

There’s silence as everyone waits for Martín’s response and then Marseille says: “Three.”

Martín goes red and slides further down in his seat as everyone gapes.

“You’ve slept with three people here?” Nairobi asks Marseille incredulously.

Marseille shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything, apparently having fulfilled his syllable quota for the day. As one, everyone turns to look at Martín.

Martín groans and closes his eyes. “It was a very long time ago?” he offers, opening one eye to see Andrés’ gaze fixed on him, eyes cold.

“How long ago?” Rio questions.

Martín shrugs. “Nearly seven years ago now,” he says and he knows that both Sergio and Andrés have done the mental maths and worked out exactly when his encounter with Marseille would have been when they exchange a knowing look.

Tokyo laughs. “Palermo, I can’t believe you. And you have the audacity to call me a slut.”

Denver giggles, but everyone else remains quiet, until Stockholm breaks the silence. “Well, I think I might go to bed. It’s been a long day. Good night everyone.”

She gets to her feet, taking Denver by the hand, dragging him with her. Marseille follows soon after without a word.

“I might go for a swim,” Tokyo says, pointing at the pool at the far end of the ridiculously large garden. “Who’s coming?”

Nairobi, Manila and Bogota join her, as does Rio and the five of them quickly disappear out of Martín’s hearing. Andrés is still staring at him, but when Martín offers him an apologetic smile, he just turns back to Sergio and Lisbon, picking up their conversation as if nothing had happened.

Martín sighs and reaches for the whiskey, which Bogota had brought out earlier. Helsinki watches him, but doesn’t say anything. He does however, follow Martín when he goes to sit on the grass again.

“Do you want some?” Martín asks, offering him the whiskey. When Helsinki shakes his head, Martín just shrugs and takes a swig. They sit in silence for a while. “You know, we didn’t even fuck,” he says eventually.

“You and Marseille?” Helsinki clarifies and Martín nods.

“Yeah it was just…” he makes a crude hand gesture and Helsinki nods his understanding. Martín takes another hard swig of the whiskey. “Do you think I’ve ruined everything again?” he asks, quietly enough that Helsinki could pretend not to have heard if he wanted to.

Of course, Helsinki is far too nice for that, instead he puts his arm around Martín and pats his shoulder. “I don’t think you have.”

Martín nods. “Thank you. You should go join the others in the pool. I know you want to.”

“I don’t mind staying,” Helsinki says and Martín smiles.

“I know you don’t. But you should go have fun. Spend time with Nairobi, you must have missed her.”

Helsinki nods, getting to his feet. “If you’re sure.”

“Of course I am. Go, have fun,” Martín says, nonchalantly flapping a hand and Helsinki does, stripping off his shirt and joining the others in the pool with a huge splash which makes both Nairobi and Tokyo shriek.

Martín sighs and drinks more of his whiskey.

Behind him, he can still hear Andrés talking to Sergio and Lisbon, although he can’t quite make out the words. He lies back on the grass, trying to make out the constellations in the sky, but the stars have gone back to spinning above him, making him dizzy.

He closes his eyes against the nausea and he must fall asleep because the next thing he knows, someone is shaking him awake.

His eyes open to see Andrés crouching above him. “Come on, Martín, you should go to bed. Sleeping on the ground isn’t good for you.”

Martín nods and accepts the hand he’s offered. Andrés pulls him to his feet and helps Martín brush himself off.

Martín makes towards the house, but stops when Andrés doesn’t follow. “Are you coming?”

“Later,” Andrés says, nodding to the patio where Sergio is still sitting, talking to Lisbon who’s standing in the door to the kitchen. Everyone else seems to have disappeared already. “I still have some catching up to do.”

“Right,” Martín says quietly. “I guess I’ll see you later then.”

Andrés makes a noncommittal gesture. “Don’t feel like you need to stay up.”

Ice floods Martín’s stomach and he turns without saying anything else. When he gets to the door where Lisbon is standing he hesitates, unwilling to push past her.

“I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping,” she says kindly, giving Sergio a look over Martín’s shoulder.

Martín nods silently. He’d completely forgotten that they hadn’t even been to their room yet.

He follows Lisbon inside, briefly veering off to the entrance hall to collect their bags. Lisbon lends a hand, picking up Andrés’ second suitcase, before leading him up the ridiculous double staircase.

“We thought you might prefer some privacy, to be away from the noise,” Lisbon says when they reach the end of a very long hallway where his and Andrés’ room is situated.

The corners of Martín’s mouth twitch into an attempt at a smile. “Thank you.”

She opens the door and steps in just enough to be able to deposit Andrés’ suitcase.

“Sleep well, Palermo,” she says, returning to the hallway.

“You too,” he responds, shutting the door when she turns and walks away.

He’s ridiculously tired, but his stomach is tying itself into nervous knots and his whole body feels jittery so he decides to unpack instead of trying to sleep.

Like the rest of the house, the room is atrociously decorated in baby pink and mint green, with a large gilded wardrobe opposite the bed. Martín opens the first of Andrés’ suitcases and carefully begins hanging up Andrés’ suits – all nine of them – making sure the fabric isn’t too rumbled. He folds away his own clothes in the chest of drawers in the other side of the room. He only brought one thing nice enough to warrant hanging up, the linen suit Andrés insisted he bring, which is hanging next to the others a little forlornly. Somehow, it’s that, the separation of their things that makes him cry. It just hits him like never before how much more elegant, how flawless Andrés is in comparison to him and once the tears start, it’s hard for him to get them to stop.

When he does eventually manage to calm himself down, he finds that he's been crying into a pair of Andrés’ ridiculous silk boxers. It’s a little pathetic, even for him, so he finishes putting away the last of their things before stripping down to his underwear, leaving his clothes on the floor beside the bed.

A glance at his watch when he takes it off, shows that it’s nearly three in the morning and Andrés still hasn’t come to bed. A part of him wonders whether Andrés just decided to sleep somewhere else. The house is sure to have a spare room.

He crawls into bed, trying to work out how it had all managed to go so wrong when just a few days ago, Andrés was telling him that he couldn’t live without him.

Martín wakes with a pounding head and a dry mouth. He rolls over and his heart sinks when he sees the space next to him is still empty. He pushes himself into a sitting position, trying to decide whether to go downstairs to look for Andrés, or just spend the next few hours crying in the shower. Just as he’s decided on the shower, the door to the en-suite bathroom opens and Andrés walks out, impeccably dressed in a light-coloured suit and the lavender shirt Martín had helped him pick out before they left.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Andrés says before climbing onto the bed. Martín starts to back away until he realises that he’s propped up against the headboard and has nowhere to go. Andrés just crawls up the bed until he’s practically on top of Martín, knees either side of his thighs.

“Andrés, what –“ Martín starts, but is quickly cut off by Andrés putting a hand over his mouth. He’s entirely confused as to what’s going on and although he wouldn’t put it past Andrés to break up with him like this, he doesn’t think that’s what’s going on.

“Let me speak, Martín, alright?” Andrés asks and when Martín nods, he removes his hand. Andrés sits back on his heels, takes a deep breath and pulls something from his pocket. “Will you marry me?” he asks, holding out a golden ring and Martín’s mouth drops open.

He’s fairly sure his brain has stopped working. Maybe he fell out of bed in the middle of the night and hit his head and is now experiencing vivid hallucinations. Andrés is still holding the ring out, and the smile has slid from his face.

“Martín?” he prompts. “Are you going to answer me?”

“I…” Martín begins. “I don’t understand.”

Andrés laughs. “I’m asking you to marry me, I thought that was obvious.”

Martín nods. “No, that part is clear. But… why?”

“Why?” Andrés asks and Martín nods slowly. “Because I love you.”

“But you… last night. You were angry. You didn’t come to bed. I thought… Well I didn’t think this.”

Andrés sighs. “Was I angry? Of course I was. I found out you hooked up with Marseille – at my wedding to Tatiana – and never told me. I needed time to react. But I talked to Sergio and he told me I was being stupid.”

“He did?” Martín half whispers and Andrés nods, a smile playing on his lips.

“Yes. He also said that I’d waited long enough and I should marry you.”

Martín frowns. “So you’re only doing this because Sergio told you to?”

“No,” Andrés shakes his head. “Of course not. I’m doing this because I love you and I spent far too long getting married to the wrong people instead of being with you.”

“So why now? Why not earlier, in Vietnam?” Martín asks, his heart still unable to trust that this is real.

Andrés reaches out to stroke his cheek, thumb rubbing just under his eye which Martín is sure must be puffy from his crying last night. “I didn’t earlier because I didn’t want you to worry that you were going to be just another marriage. But I’m doing it now because I’ve already waited far too long and I want to see you happy as soon as possible.”

“But why like this? You proposed to Tatiana in a Michelin starred restaurant. You proposed to Marietta in the Louvre,” Martín says, a little bitterly. “I’m hungover as shit, I haven’t showered or brushed my teeth. I’m a mess.”

Andrés leans forward until their noses are brushing. “But that’s how you know I mean it. Grand gestures are for when you only see the person as part of a performance to hide who you really are. But you, Martín, you’re so integrally a part of me that I couldn’t even try to hide from you. I wouldn’t want to either, not any more.” He pauses for a moment. “Of course, if you want a big gesture I’ll wake everyone in this tacky, ugly mansion and gather them together and propose in front of them all.”

Martín blinks, swallowing a couple of times. Andrés strokes under his eye again. “You’ve been crying,” he says with a frown.

Martín lets out a laugh that’s half a sob. “Of course I have, you were an asshole last night. I was half convinced you were going to leave me, not fucking propose!”

Andrés actually has the audacity to look surprised. “I wouldn’t!” he protests. “I’ve told you before, we’re soulmates.”

“Soulmates don’t always end up together,” Martín says with a shrug and Andrés gently brushes his hair out of his eyes.

“We did. Right?” he asks and Martín nods. Andrés grins and holds the ring out again. “So, once more: Martín, mi amor, will you marry me?” Martín nods and Andrés laughs. “Is that a yes?”

Martín scowls. “Shut the fuck up, of course it’s a yes,” he says, before wrapping a hand around the back of Andrés’ neck and yanking him into a kiss. Andrés immediately responds, licking into his mouth, both hands winding themselves into Martín’s hair.

“Do you want your ring?” Andrés asks, when they eventually part. Martín nods and holds out his hand. Very carefully, Andrés slides the gold band onto his finger. It’s plain, not even a stone set into it, but flawlessly crafted.

“Where did you even get this?” Martín asks as he looks at it.

Andrés grins. “Well we did have rather a lot of gold on hand, so I had a jeweller make it out of what we took from the bank.”

“So you’ve been planning this for a while?” Martín asks.

“I wanted to have the option,” Andrés says with a shrug that’s far too casual for the situation. “I’ve got one too. Thought it would be nice for us to match.”

“But I unpacked your stuff for you, where did you keep them?”

Andrés grins wickedly. “In an empty tub of the pomade you hate.”

“Really?” Martín laughs. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

Martín nods and drags Andrés into another kiss that quickly turns heated. He strips Andrés of his jacket and starts working on his shirt buttons. “Fuck, why are you wearing a suit?”

“I wanted to look my best,” Andrés says as he shrugs out of the shirt, throwing it onto the floor with his jacket.

“Great, and I’m just sat here in my underwear,” Martín says. “You’re so fucking vain, cariño.”

Andrés rolls his eyes, briefly climbing off the bed to step out of his trousers and pants.

“Socks,” Martín reminds him, when he tries to get back in bed. Andrés pouts as he pulls off his socks, so Martín removes his own underwear to put them on equal footing.

“You’re very mean, mi amor,” Andrés tells him as he crawls on top of him.

Martín just laughs until Andrés shuts him up with a kiss.

* * *

When they eventually stumble out of their room, Andrés can still feel the scratches from Martín’s nails on his back. He’s dressed in another suit, but Martín is just in shorts and a t-shirt with a neckline that’s too low to hide most of the marks Andrés made.

Andrés smiles to himself and grabs Martín’s hand, enjoying the way he can feel the body-warm ring against his skin.

Martín shoots him a look. “Why do you look so smug?” he asks and Andrés grins, making sure there’s no one else about before pressing Martín up against the nearest wall.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks, enjoying the way Martín only half-heartedly tries to push him off.

“Because you’ve been engaged before,” Martín starts and Andrés knows he’s about to follow it up with something self-deprecating so he cuts him off.

“Very true, I have been engaged before. But I’ve never been engaged to you, have I?” he asks and Martín shakes his head. “Then trust me when I say that everything is different now and no matter how much of an asshole you think I am, never doubt that here, with you, is exactly where I want to be.”

Martín blinks, a little shocked, and then pulls Andrés in for a hungry kiss that almost makes him want to drag Martín straight back to bed.

“Breakfast?” Andrés eventually gasps and Martín nods.

They head downstairs hand in hand, and find everyone already seated out on the patio.

“Finally,” Bogota says when they walk outside. “We were about to send out a search party.”

“Yeah except we couldn’t get anyone to volunteer,” Tokyo says into her coffee as Andrés pulls Martín to the table with him.

They take seats opposite Marseille and Sergio, who raises his eyebrows at Andrés. Andrés give a slight nod and a self-satisfied grin and Sergio smiles at him.

“Did you save us any food? I’m starving,” Andrés says and Nairobi snorts.

“I bet you are,” she says, eyeing Martín’s neck which Andrés has admittedly ravaged a little. Martín goes red, but doesn’t say anything for once.

“There’s still eggs and sausages,” Lisbon says, handing him a bowl of scrambled eggs. “If you want toast you’ll have to go make your own.”

“This will be fine, thank you,” Andrés says, serving both himself and Martín.

Martín looks down the table. “Pass the coffee, Tokyo?” he asks, accepting a mug from Stockholm, as Tokyo hands him the coffee pot.

He pours himself a cup and then ends up nearly spilling it on himself when Nairobi suddenly yells: “What is that on your hand?”

Martín flushes again as all eyes at the table turn to his left hand and the gold ring on it. “Um,” he says eloquently as everyone starts talking over each other.

“Are you two engaged?” Manila asks with a grin as Denver laughs beside her.

Tokyo looks a little sick. “Ew is that why you were so late? Because you were having engagement sex?”, she asks and Rio chokes on his orange juice.

“Oh my god,” Nairobi says, her hands flying to her mouth. “Is this because of what I said last night?”

Andrés scowls. “No it isn’t. Do you think I had a ring made overnight?”

“So you are engaged!” Lisbon says and Andrés smiles, draping an arm around Martín.

“We are, rest assured, you’ll all be invited to the wedding,” he says, enjoying how Martín seems dumbstruck.

Across from them, Sergio rolls his eyes at his theatrics, but he looks pleased nevertheless.

“Champagne,” Bogota cries. “We need to celebrate this with champagne!”

Denver pouts. “We didn’t get champagne for announcing our pregnancies.”

“You’re not the one who’s pregnant, Denver,” Martín says, finally seeming to have found his voice. “Besides, the girls can’t drink and you and Bogota have been fathers before.”

Denver goes red. “Andrés has been married like twenty times!”

Martín smiles. “Yes, but never to me. Bogota, I’ll help you with the champagne.” He get to his feet, planting a kiss on Andrés’ cheek as he leaves, and follows Bogota into the kitchen.

“Congratulations,” Lisbon tells him sincerely and he nods graciously.

Opposite him, Marseille cracks a rare smile. “It will be nice to attend a wedding where Martín isn’t plotting a homicide.”

Everyone else only half laughs, unsure whether he’s joking or not. Andrés is sure he’s only joking about the last wedding. With the others he might have been right on the target.

Martín and Bogota return and Stockholm rushes to her feet to take some of the precariously balanced glasses off them.

When everyone has a glass of champagne, or an adequate substitute, Sergio gets to his feet.

“Berlin, I’ve listened to you tell me many times over the years that you’ve found the love of your life and that you’re getting married. I’ve also seen you realise each time that you’ve made a mistake. The one thing you’ve always been sure of, even when I wasn’t, is Palermo. I’m glad that, just this once, you’ve proved me wrong about something and I know you two will have a lifetime of happiness together,” he smiles, blinking behind his thick glasses, then raises his glass. “To Berlin and Palermo,” he toasts.

“To Berlin and Palermo,” the others repeat and Andrés smiles, his hand finding Martín’s easily.

They finally get to start on their food and Andrés is halfway through serving Martín more when Nairobi and Stockholm, who have been whispering down one end of the table suddenly stop and Nairobi clears her throat.

“We’ve had an idea,” Nairobi announces.

“Oh god,” Rio groans. “It’s not another heist, is it?”

Everyone laughs as the women shake their heads. “No,” Stockholm says. “But we realised we don’t know if or when we’ll all be able to be together again. So we thought, why don’t Berlin and Palermo get married here? Tomorrow evening?”

Andrés looks at Martín, who is frowning. “I don’t know,” Martín says slowly. “I just… well, I didn’t think you guys would really want to be there? It’s not like we can have a proper wedding, with our real names or anything anyway. It would just be a ceremonial. Just for us.”

There’s silence after he speaks and Andrés rests a comforting hand on the back of Martín’s neck.

“Well,” Nairobi says. “We’re a family, aren’t we? So as long as you want us there, we will be,” she says firmly and Stockholm nods in agreement.

“Do you want us there?” Tokyo asks, but for once there’s no edge in her voice.

Martín nods, blinking in a way that Andrés knows means he’s holding back tears. Andrés squeezes the back of his neck and Martín nods. “Well, like you said, we’re a family. God knows I don’t have a real one to speak of,” he says.

“So we’re doing this?” Denver asks. “We’re having a wedding?”

Andrés nods and Denver cheers. Beside him, Bogota groans. “You’re not going to sing again are you?” he asks and Andrés scowls as both Tokyo and Denver look like it’s Christmas morning.

“You sang at your wedding?” Tokyo asks, grinning wickedly.

Andrés sniffs. “It was very romantic,” he insists and the table bursts into laughter again. “Martín back me up, cariño,” Andrés protests and Martín shrugs.

“Don’t ask me, I don’t remember. Bogota brought absinthe and we drank it before the ceremony.” 

Andrés groans, pressing his face to Martín’s neck, who just pats his head rather unsympathetically.

After breakfast, Nairobi drags Andrés off to start planning.

“Why can’t you get Martín to do this?” he asks, as they head to his bedroom.

Nairobi scowls. “Because you’ve been married five times so you know what you’re doing. Also because you know what Martín likes and we are going to make this special for him.” She takes a moment to think. “And also because you dress better. Really, I should have known a long time ago that you were gay or whatever.”

“That’s a stereotype,” Andrés sighs as they enter the bedroom. Nairobi flops onto the bed, which Andrés wouldn’t have recommended considering he and Martín definitely hadn’t had time to change the sheets, but he decides not to say anything. “By the way,” he says when she seems to come to that realisation by herself and moves to the armchair in the corner. “Do you and Martín actually like each other? I was never able to work it out in the bank. Or after.”

She shrugs. “He’s an asshole. He was an asshole to Helsinki – and to everyone else as well, really. But, he’s brave too. Gandia would have killed me if it wasn’t for Palermo. And I know a lot of the things he did were because he was hurting. I was hurting in the same way and I managed to cause him pain. I don’t think we’ll ever be best friends, but I care about him.”

Andrés nods, thinking about the vicious words Martín and Nairobi had hurled at each other. “Well, either way, thank you for doing this. He might not show it – he certainly didn’t at breakfast – but he cares about you all too.”

Nairobi grins. “Oh I know,” she says. “He’s not like you, his feelings are all over his face, all the time.” She gets to her feet and goes to the wardrobe. “Okay, show me. Which ones are his?”

“That one on the left,” Andrés says. Nairobi pulls out the light-green linen suit that Martín had only brought at Andrés’ insistence.

She nods. “Nice. Are all the others yours?” she asks, a little incredulously.

Andrés frowns. “What, I’m supposed to dress like an American tourist just because it’s only us here?”

Nairobi rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Pick something to wear that will go with Palermo’s.”

Andrés waves a hand. “Consider it taken care of. What else do we need to do?”

“Vows,” Nairobi says. “And you need to pick someone to officiate. This may not be a legally binding wedding, but we can pretend it is anyway. What about the Professor?”

Andrés sighs. “Don’t you think my brother should be my best man?”

“Right,” Nairobi nods. “Then who? Marseille? But he doesn’t talk. Denver?”

Andrés shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

She grins. “That’s fair. Helsinki?”

“I have the terrible suspicion that he might be Martín’s best man,” Andrés sighs.

“Well who do you want then?” Nairobi asks, looking frustrated.

Andrés rolls his eyes. “Who cares. Why don’t you do it?”

“Me?”

“Why not? You seem the most competent.”

“Fair enough,” she says. “I accept. Now what are the chances I can get Martín to walk down an aisle while carrying some flowers?”

Andrés snorts. “Slim to none, but ask him if you want.”

“I think I’ll pass, i think he brought a gun with him. Shall we go back downstairs? I’m sure you’re itching to be back with your fiancée,” Nairobi teases and Andrés would argue if there weren’t some truth to it.

“Shut up,” he says and Nairobi grins as she leads the way out.

“Would you say this is your shortest engagement?” she asks and Andrés scowls.

“If you weren’t pregnant, I’d push you down the stairs,” he says and she laughs.

“No you wouldn’t.”

* * *

Martín watches Andrés and Nairobi disappear with only a little trepidation. He and Helsinki have somehow found themselves alone in the kitchen again and he can tell the other man has something on his mind.

“What’s up, big guy?” he asks and Helsinki shakes his head.

“It’s nothing, I just… You’re sure, right?” he asks Martín. “Cause last night you seemed pretty upset with each other, but now you’re engaged.”

Martín sighs. “I know, and I do wish it were less complicated sometimes. But neither of us are easy people. Andrés is possessive and I’m insecure, it should be a terrible mix but it does work. Even though things occasionally veer off course,” he admits.

Helsinki smiles. “I am happy for you, you know? I just don’t want you to think that this is something you have to do. Even the Professor would understand if you didn’t want to.”

Something warm blooms in Martín’s stomach. He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve a friend like Helsinki. “I appreciate that, I do. But I do want this. Sometimes it seems that I’ve wanted it for so long, I don’t know what to do now that I have it. Does that make sense?”

“It does,” Helsinki nods.

“I’m happy for you too, by the way,” Martín says. “I hope what I said at dinner yesterday didn’t make you think otherwise. You deserve to have someone.” Helsinki smiles and Martín pats his hand. “But if it turns out that he doesn’t deserve you, let me know. I’m pretty handy with a claymore.”

Helsinki laughs. “I appreciate that. So are you looking forward to the wedding? It’s pretty short notice.”

“I am actually, and I am glad you guys will be there. I’ve never really had, well, a family before so it means a lot that everyone would do this. I know I’m kind of an asshole.”

“You and Berlin are both assholes,” Helsinki snorts. “That’s why you work together.”

Martín laughs. “That’s probably true. But you know, despite being an asshole, I’ll need a best man. I can’t exactly ask Andrés or Sergio so… would you do the honours?”

“Of course,” Helsinki nods, pulling Martín into a rough hug. “I’d love to.”

The day seems to fly by with Nairobi and Stockholm roping everyone into preparations. Rio and Manila are put in charge of the cake, which Martín hadn’t even thought about having, Bogota and Marseille are sent off to search the house for every candle they can find, and everyone else – including Paula and Cincinnati – is either set to prepping food or stripping the garden of flowers to make into garlands.

By the time evening comes and they’ve eaten dinner and had some wine, Martín is ready for bed. He didn’t exactly have the best sleep the night before and the day’s ups and downs have taken their toll.

By ten he’s already struggling to keep his eyes open so Andrés drags him away from the poker game he’s currently magnificently losing at and up to bed.

He just about manages to stay awake for a quick shower, although he isn’t entirely sure he doesn’t nod off for just a moment in the warm steam.

When he returns to the bedroom, Andrés is already in bed, looking half asleep himself. He just lifts an arm when he sees Martín, who quickly crawls into bed and Andrés’ embrace.

Andrés flicks the bedside light off and Martín curls further into him, head tucked between his neck and shoulder.

“I’m sorry, corazón,” Andrés murmurs into his still damp hair.

Martín frowns against his neck. “What for?”

“Last night. I shouldn’t have let you think such bad things about us, or yourself.”

“It’s okay,” Martín says quietly. “You made up for it. We just need to get a little better at communicating.”

“It’s never been our strong suit,” Andrés admits, pulling Martín closer. “But I do love you, that’s the only thing that matters.

“I love you too, cariño. Now sleep, or you’ll fall asleep during the wedding tomorrow and I'll have to kill you.”

* * *

The next day is even more hectic than the one before and Andrés hardly sees Martín after breakfast. Nairobi had deemed Andrés too incompetent to help with stringing the garlands up between trees and banished him to the kitchen to chop vegetables with Stockholm, Manila, and Lisbon.

By the time he was told he could leave to shower and change, his hands felt unpleasantly starchy and he’s in a distinctly bad mood.

“I thought people were supposed to look happy when they’re about to get married to devilishly handsome Argentinians,” Martín quips when Andrés walks into their room with a face like thunder.

Andrés can’t help but smile when he sees him. “You do look very handsome, mi amor,” he says, giving Martín an appreciative look. He’s not in his suit yet, but clearly fresh out of the shower with just a towel around his waist. “You should go to the ceremony dressed like that,” Andrés says lasciviously, tugging the towel away.

Martín rolls his eyes. “You’re a pervert and I’m not into voyeurism. Now go shower. I’m not marrying someone who smells like the busboy in a Parisian kitchen.”

Andrés grins, giving Martín his towel back, but stealing a kiss before he does as he’s told.

By the time he’s showered, shaved, and done his hair, Martín is gone.

Andrés has just finished dressing when there’s a knock on the door and Sergio walks in without waiting for an answer. “Rude,” Andrés says and his brother just rolls his eyes.

“Are you ready? We want to start and Martín is getting antsy.”

Andrés smiles. “Of course. Shall we?”

They make their way downstairs together and just before they reach the kitchen, Sergio stops him.

Andrés frowns. “What is it, hermanito?”

Sergio pushes his glasses up his nose, looking nervous. “I just… I’ve spoken to Martín about it before, but, well… I wanted to apologise. I didn’t just hurt Martín when I told you to leave him. Although I didn’t see it at the time, I hurt you as well and… I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” Andrés says. He knows that it’s hard for Sergio to admit when he's wrong and he honestly hadn’t ever expected a sincere apology. He pulls his brother into a hug. “Now, let’s go and get me married one final time.”

When Andrés follows Sergio out into the garden, he hardly notices how the chairs and benches have been rearranged to form an aisle, or how Nairobi had managed to get Denver and Bogota to artistically hang the flower garlands between the trees. All he sees is Martín, standing next to Helsinki, looking both more nervous and happier than Andrés has ever seen him.

When Andrés makes it to where Martín is, he can’t help but reach out to hold his hand, unable to be apart from him even for a few moments.

Nairobi steps forward and begins to speak, but Andrés can honestly say that he doesn’t hear a word she says. Martín is smiling at him with tears in his eyes and Andrés fights the urge to just pull him close and not let go.

He manages to get himself together enough to say ‘I do’ after Martín and to put the ring on him that Martín had been almost unwilling to part with earlier.

Andrés has his hands on Martín before Nairobi even tells them they can kiss, and he vaguely registers her swearing, but he’s far too focussed on putting everything he has into kissing Martín to care.

There’s applause when they finally pull apart and Nairobi laughs. “I think I just got pregnant again just from watching that,” she says and Martín pulls her into a hug.

The others take that as a signal to get up and they’re quickly swamped by everyone trying to congratulate them at once. Andrés accepts the hugs and the kisses, but makes sure never to let go of Martín’s hand.

Later, when they’ve had the insane amount of food that was prepared and Andrés has avoided Tokyo trying to convince him to squish cake into Martín’s face, when it gets dark enough that they can light the candles that were scrounged up, Rio sets up the speakers.

Andrés pulls Martín onto the makeshift dancefloor to Nairobi’s announcement of Mister and Mister de Fonollosa-Berrote having their first dance.

The others quickly pair off and join them and for once, Andrés could care less about the break in tradition, because he finally knows what was always missing from his other weddings. It was having Martín here, in his arms. Instead of off in a corner sulking or drinking with Bogota, Martín is swaying from side to side with him, arms tight around Andrés’ waist.

“Did you ever think we’d end up here?” Andrés asks and Martín shakes his head. “Really? You never thought about it?”

Martín laughs. “No, I tried not to think about it. I barely even hoped, even though it’s all I'd ever wanted. How could someone like me deserve all this?”

Andrés’ hands reflexively tighten. “You do deserve it though. This and much more.”

Martín smiles and kisses him, gentle and sure. “I know, but what more do I need now? I have money and a family and you. I even melted gold in the Bank of Spain. I think I’m satisfied for now.”

“For now?” Andrés asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Well,” Martín laughs. “I can’t promise anything. I don’t know what the future holds – apart from you of course.”

Andrés kisses him again for that, just because he wants to and he can. Around them there are catcalls and Martín is definitely giving someone the finger, but Andrés laughs because he’s finally found what he’d spent far too long looking for.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh god this is cheesy. Thoughts? Comments? Kudos? Cryptic riddles? I'm open to everything and my apologies if this all seemed majorly ooc, it's surprisingly hard to write everyone being happy.


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